


Kick at the Darkness 'Til it Bleeds Daylight

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Lovers in a Dangerous Time [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Civil War, F/M, Light Angst, Sharon Carter Defense Squad, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5739241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sharon Carter finally drew her gaze away from whatever spot in the middle distance had interested her so. She gave her partner a look as if she'd scraped him off her shoe, then turned to Steve and her face went blank again. She held out her hand, showing Steve a very official looking piece of paper. "Orders from the UN Security Council. We need to confiscate the listed Avenger related weapons."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He didn't need to take it to read it. "You want my shield?" he asked. Also Sam's wings. Not, he noticed, Stark's suit.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"All listed weapons," she repeated neutrally.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kick at the Darkness 'Til it Bleeds Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> There was a lot of hate in the Sharon Carter tag on Tumblr this week. This angers us. So we write Steve/Sharon fic to soothe our souls. Based on Sharon's blink-and-you'll-miss-it appearance in the Civil War trailer.
> 
> Probably going to be some smut-filled PWPs to come so I'm making it a series in antici . . . . . . . . pation.
> 
> Story and series title come from the Barenaked Ladies song "Lovers in a Dangerous Time"

"You let him get under your skin."

Steve tipped his head back against the seat as the plane began its descent. "I know."

"I'm not saying Rumlow didn't deserve to be shot in the face. He did. But that was excessive."

"Sam," Steve growled. He was aware at how badly that had gone. He'd let himself be baited—twice in one day—and in his growing desperation to find Bucky, he'd been sloppy and stupid. He didn't need Sam to lecture him. But still. "That was a set up."

"They're not going to care."

Steve knew. Stark had called him six times since it had hit the news. It was supposed to be quiet and quick and _not_ on the news. He had, of course, been ordered to stop searching for Bucky. He'd been ordered to stop getting involved in anything, actually, without official instructions. He was really fucking tired of orders. He was fucking tired of the Sokovia Accords.

He was exhausted and more than a little beat up. The plane was landing at 1 AM. He needed a shower and some sleep before he was up for dealing with angry Tony Stark and whatever governmental wrist-slapping was coming at him.

As it turned out, it was much worse than that.

The first warning came from Nat. She texted him at 6AM the next morning while he was out on his run—Steve didn't need a lot of sleep—telling him they were coming up from DC, and to not leave HQ. He called Sam to tell him it was time for their trip to the Principal's Office. 

He had an odd feeling he couldn't quite put his finger on—and he should really know to trust his world-class instincts. He ignored it getting dressed, having breakfast, checking the news coverage and wincing. This could get unpleasant. 

What he did _not_ expect was to walk into the garage and find it full of MPs with M-4's. 

"Well, fuck," Sam muttered from a foot to his right.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he realized there were more guns trained on him than he could survive being shot by. Across the garage there was a man in a suit he didn't know, but the blonde woman standing next to him he sure as hell _did_ know.

The last time he'd seen her he'd left her apartment in DC in his funeral suit in gray dawn, her scent still on his skin. Now she was very deliberately not making eye contact.

"Captain Rogers," the man next to her said. "I'm happy you could join us." He had a round face and thinning blonde hair. He was smiling, but it was insincere and fake. "I'm a big fan."

He glanced slowly from side to side, looking at the guns. "Are you?"

"Well, the old war stories at least. Bit more ambiguous on your recent stuff. Never meet your heroes, as they say." He looked over at his companion. "Carter? Care to do the honors?"

Sharon Carter finally drew her gaze away from whatever spot in the middle distance had interested her so. She gave her partner a look as if she'd scraped him off her shoe, then turned to Steve and her face went blank again. She held out her hand, showing Steve a very official looking piece of paper. "Orders from the UN Security Council. We need to confiscate the listed Avenger related weapons."

He didn't need to take it to read it. "You want my shield?" he asked. Also Sam's wings. Not, he noticed, Stark's suit.

"All listed weapons," she repeated neutrally. Agent No-Name gestured and several of the MPs broke off, heading towards the armory. She _knew_ how he felt about his shield. It was personal, it was practically part of his body. They couldn't just confiscate it. It was _his_.

She would barely make eye contact with him, no matter how hard he tried. So he settled for clenching his jaw and glaring at her.

They stood there in stony silence, all four of them, as men in combat boots walked past with just about everything in the armory. Sharon glanced over at his shield when it went by, but he couldn't read her expression at all. It certainly wasn't guilt, that was damn sure.

"We appreciate your cooperation, Captain," the smiling agent said.

"Anything else?" he bit out, not taking his eyes off Sharon.

"Not right now. But I suggest staying close for the foreseeable future. Wouldn't want us to have to chase you down if we had some questions." There was just enough inflection in that to make it a threat.

"Understood. We were just heading upstairs in this very building, actually. If that helps."

Another fake smile. It was almost like a twitch. "That's always good to know."

He nodded, then added, "Always nice to see you, Agent Carter." There was a splash of his currently boiling temper in his voice.

She glanced at him as they turned to go. He thought, maybe, she was trying to convey some message with the way she looked at him, but he was too angry to care.

*

Tony Stark liked to bait him. One of their first conversations had involved Stark mocking his time in the ice—which at that point had, in Steve’s head, only separated him from WW2 by two weeks. Two weeks before, he'd dumped the tesseract in the ocean, and now he was chasing it again. Two weeks before, he'd listened to Peggy's voice as he crashed into the arctic. Two weeks before, he'd watched Bucky fall from that train. It was only out of grief and disorientation and astonishment that this asshole was Howard's _son_ that Steve didn't punch him in the face right then.

Eventually, he got used to it. He got to realize there was a weird level of fondness to it; the mockery picked up a tone of affection and respect. There was something brotherly about it, as it lost its nasty undertone and morphed into the kind of teasing the commandos had been prone to. They fought well together. The team meshed well together. 

But when Stark was under stress it still seemed the first person he snarled at was Steve. 

_I don't trust a guy without a dark side._

Stark's temper was big and loud and obvious, just like the rest of him. It was like a hurricane, you could see it coming from miles away, and you just had to kind of wait for it to expel its energy and dissipate. Steve had gotten pretty good at doing that, and turning a deaf ear to whatever bullshit came out of his mouth when he was angry. He'd been perfectly prepared to do that on this particular day, and then the thing in the garage happened.

It was not, in any way, a good day for Stark to tell Steve he wanted to punch him in the teeth. Steve's temper, which was a bit like an atom bomb on a mile long fuse, got beyond his ability to leash. It got ugly in a hurry. In hindsight, an air-clearing fist fight probably would have been a good idea. Time unspooled and it was like they were on the helicarrier, Steve telling him to put on the suit and him replying he'd beat up an old man.

Sam wisely stayed the hell out of it, but Nat inserted herself, trying to get them to calm down—mostly by trying to explain to Steve why Stark was right.

Natasha, as it turned out—despite having _helped him take down SHIELD_ —was firmly on the side of government supervision and punishment for non-compliance. He'd agreed to the Sokovia Accords because he'd felt like a had to, and understood the logic to a certain degree. Stark had made an enormous mess, and now they all had to pay the tax for the cleanup. But somehow this had morphed from something they all disliked and tolerated into The One Truth, and he had no idea how.

Nat was on board. Sharon was on board. He felt like someone had flipped the tables on him, and he hadn't noticed until right now. 

"You don't need the shield, because you're not going into the field any time soon," Nat was saying. "They're not going to let you."

"What am I, fired now?" Did either of them even have that authority? "Or am I just around for ceremonial purposes now?”

She sighed, looking sincerely sorry. "PR does still mater, and people like you." He couldn't tell if she really _was_ sincere, or she was turning on her considerable skill in manipulating people. Up was down and left was right today.

Then Stark said, "Don't worry, we'll get you some tights."

Punching him in the face was looking more appealing by the minute. He grit his teeth so he wouldn't do so—or at least start the shouting up again.

"We did pick up your lead on Barnes," Nat told him. "We've got a team on it."

Steve turned to look at her. "I'm sorry, what?"

There was the slightest pause before she answered, clearly she had realized that was the wrong thing to say. "There's a team deployed to track down the last lead you had on Barnes," she replied in her calmest, most rational tone. "We're waiting on an update now."

"What exactly are this team's orders?"

Nat's mouth pursed uncomfortably and Stark answered for her, "Locate and detain."

"Detain. With _what_?" Bucky was, as far as Steve could tell, as strong as he was.

"Non-lethal force," Nat said. "They've been debriefed on his file." He turned to look at her and for a moment her emotions showed again. "I know what he means to you, Steve. But please, just stay out of this."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Let the professionals handle it?"

"If you like."

"If I like," he echoed. He tipped his head back. "For the record, Romanov, you have no idea what he means to me." He wasn't sure anyone who hadn't actually lived his bizarre life possibly could.

Her walls went back up immediately. "That does not negate the fact you need to stay out of this."

"Right. I got the memo; I'm confined to HQ."

"Maybe you can catch up on paperwork," Stark offered ever-so-helpfully.

"I'll be in my quarters," he said, turning on his heel. Sam said something to the two of them—Steve didn't know what or much care, before following him.

"I'm really surprised that didn't end in bloodshed," Sam commented.

"I have bigger problems," Steve replied.

"Not sure bloodshed will help with those, either."

"If you had to lay odds on them even making an attempt at taking him alive, what would they be? And even if they did, what are the odds of him cooperating enough to survive the attempt?"

Sam sighed and didn't respond, which was answer enough. They reached Steve's rooms and Sam followed him in without asking. "What are you thinking?"

"Rumlow said he remembered me. I'm hoping if I find him, he might actually come willingly."

Another sigh, then Sam put his hands on his hips, staring at the floor for a moment. "We're gonna have to be at least one step ahead of the other team. Three or four steps'd be better."

"You don't have to come with me," Steve said seriously. "Consequences will only get worse from here, and this. . . this isn't really your fight." He didn't want to ruin Sam's life. Even if he really, really didn't want to lose absolutely everybody today.

He shrugged. "People start shooting at you they're gonna get around to shooting at me. You've saved the world multiple times and they're treating you like a criminal. I know whose side I'm on."

Steve sat on his couch and rubbed his eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I don't know what the tell is going on with them. Well. I get Stark. He's finally realized he needs supervision—which I don't think anyone disagrees with—and now it applies to all of us. Can't say I get Nat, though."

"Nat's got a lot of demons." Sam leaned a hip against the arm of the couch. "And a lot of guilt for the things she's done. I can see how that would translate into feeling the need to have guidance. To have someone calling the shots. Loosing SHIELD damaged her self-identity, threw her ledger all out of whack. Maybe she wants to try to get that back. Assure herself she's on the side of the angels."

"Yeah." He leaned back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. "And I had no idea Sharon had drunk the CIA Kool-Aid. My luck she's told them everything I've ever said to her." That one stung. He didn't want to think about just how _much_ that stung.

"That one I can't help you. I don't know her well." Sam gave him a canny look. "Though apparently you do."

"We had a thing. Several things, actually, over the last couple of years." He could see Sam's eyebrows were up. "I'm 97, I'm not dead."

"I'm impressed, is all. Was it serious?"

"No," he grumbled. "Clearly." He sighed. "Sex and friendship. Ward off the loneliness a little bit. But I still thought. . ." That there was some part of her that was his. That had believed she wouldn't just march in and take his shield while pretending she hadn't seen him since SHIELD fell and believed he might, in fact, be the bad guy.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Sam said sincerely. "But it is 2016. Sex and friendship doesn't necessarily mean loyalty."

"So it seems. We should probably get going after dark. They'll be watching us all day."

"We're gonna need a cover of some sort. You got any movies you wanna see?"

"How about something that doesn't have a lot of shit blowing up?"

*

Finding Bucky had been easier than he'd thought. Getting him out of that vise had been harder than it looked. Pulling down a helicopter with his bare hands—literally—had been something Steve didn't know he could do. His muscles hurt like they hadn't hurt since before the serum. But now they were at least safe. International fugitives, but safe.

They split from Sam in an effort to shake any tails they had. Steve wasn't a spy but Bucky seemed to have enough skills left over from being the shoulder to help them shake anyone who might have stuck around. For all Steve knew jack booted thugs would be busting down the motel room door at any moment, but hopefully they had enough time to figure out their next moves.

Getting out of the country seemed like a great idea. Normal means of travel were off the list, but with enough of a bribe Bucky thought they might be able to find a freighter or container ship that might give them a ride with no questions asked. Finding that kind of money was the main problem.

"It wouldn't be hard to steal."

He turned and gave Bucky a look. "We're not stealing."

"Really? That's where we're drawing the line?"

He sighed. "All right. Say we do. Where would you steal it from?"

Bucky tipped his head back. "Bank is too flashy, but we're going to need more cash than most stores carry. Two of us could probably handle an armored car, if we timed it right."

"Without killing the drivers?"

He paused and Steve braced himself for a morality debate that he _really_ didn't want to have. Then he said, "If we do it during a drop off or pick up then one of them will be in the building while the other stays. Disarm and remove him and drive the truck away. Off load in an alley with a planted getaway car."

"Which we'd have to steal."

Another pause. "It can be a really shitty car, if that will make you feel better."

He shook his head. "No. Steal a nice car. Guy who drives a Mercedes has insurance that will buy him a new one. The owner of 20 year old rusty Dodge might be totally fucked."

"I can do that."

There was a knock at the door and both of them were instantly on alert. Then an envelope was slipped under the door and footsteps walked down the hall. Steve moved to snatch the envelope up, and then cracked the door to look outside.

He recognized the guy from the front desk disappearing down the hall and called out for him. "Who left this?" he asked, waving the envelope.

The man shrugged. He was in his early forties, going grey and bald and obviously not particularly in love with his job. "Some kid brought it by. Said to give it to the two rough looking guys who checked in today. That's you."

He nodded. "Thanks." He ducked back inside, and ripped open the envelope.

Inside was a keycard to a different motel, The Swan's Inn. The card had a silhouette of a swan on it. There was a note folded around it, written in familiar handwriting.

_9:18. Don't you dare be late._

He stared at it in shock a moment. "Holy shit."

***

Harry Houdini once said that the reason he could get out of safes so easily was that they were meant to keep people from breaking _in_ not _out_. Sharon Carter had found this was true of many, many things. If you could get into the building or vault or car or whatever, getting out was usually the easy part.

Steve's shield and the other Avenger gear was being held in a locked storeroom down the hall from her office. It was a building she knew like the back of her hand and had complete access to. So it was really just a matter of waiting for the right time to strike. Ironically, Steve gave her that moment when he managed to get the entire goddamn city on his tail. With half her office either in the field or getting updates, she calmly walked down the hall and punched in the key code for the door.

 Despite the fact she'd seen it several times and even held it once, there was something oddly sacred about the shield. The star of stage and screen and a couple of Aunt Peggy's more action packed stories. It was a bit like finding the Holy Grail. She was in a hurry, but she took the time to give it a friendly pat.

A/C ducts were not, contrary to popular belief, big enough or strong enough to hold a person crawling from one room to another. Even in a building as big as this one and as small and flexible as she was, it wasn't going to work. What it was big enough for was a good sized shield and a backpack with wings tucked into it. (The rest of it would have to stay there, she only had two hands and needed to prioritize. Besides, Sam was the only one she was sure was helping Steve.)

Standing on a storage shelf, she unscrewed the vent cover, shoved the shield and backpack into it as far as it would go, and resealed the vent. The office next door belong to a woman currently on maternity leave. Marilyn, nice lady, Sharon had bought her a baby bath and lotion set from her registry. She had given Sharon the code to her door in case of emergency.

The vent on this side of the duct was slightly smaller than the one in the storage closet. Sam's wings slid out easily, but the shield stuck. Sharon wiggled it and tilted it, trying to get it out.

"A shield," she muttered. "He had to use a shield. Not a sword or a gun. Or one of those little discus things like Xena. Nooo, big round awkward thing." She swore it stuck firmer after that and tried a different tack. "Come on, sweetheart," she crooned at the shield, tilting it diagonally. "Come out and I'll take you back to Daddy."

It came loose, taking a chunk of dry wall with it. Sharon winced at the gouge in the wall. Well, it wasn't like she was expecting to have a job at the end of this. She tucked the shield and wings into the suitcase she'd hidden for just this occasion and walked right out of the building.

The teams chasing Steve and Barnes had kept HQ headquarters updated on their location and route before loosing them in an underground garage. Sharon checked into a hotel with her odd luggage and scoured maps of the garage and the area around it, before narrowing down what their likely route out would have been. From there it was a matter of extrapolating where they would head and what kind of hideouts were in that direction.

She had not been a top agent at SHIELD because of her pretty face and last name.

Not entirely sure if her theft had been discovered, or if she was being followed simply on principle, she sent out a dozen kids that had been milling about at various skate parks and malls. Each with a differed message sent to a different location. If anyone was trying to use her to find Steve they were going to have to spread themselves pretty thin to chase down all those wild geese.

Nine eighteen on the nose, there was a knock on the door. He was a very punctual man.

She glanced out the window to check for tails, then went to open the door. Steve Rogers stood on the other side, in the same leather jacket he'd had on the last time she saw him, hands shoved in his pockets. She stepped back to let him in, As she closed the door behind him she gestured wordlessly to his shield, laying in the center of the king bed like Sleeping Beauty.

He stared at it for a long, stretching moment. "You stole my shield."

"Thought you might be missing her," she said quietly. "I got Sam's wings too."

"You. . ." the astonishment in his voice stung a little. He turned to look at her. "You confiscated them."

That stung more. She crossed her arms. "The CIA confiscated them on behalf of the UNSC. I _played along_ so that I'd have an opportunity to get them back for you." She paused. "You really thought I was on their side?"

"You stared right through me! Like I was just some guy you knew once."

"Jesus, Steve. I was surrounded by MPs and spies! If I'd said anything or smiled at you or looked at you for too long I'd have a tail and two guards and never gotten within ten feet of your stuff. I thought. . . I thought you could trust me a little bit."

"Just about everyone else has been turning one me. Does sex and friendship equal loyalty more so than going to war together?" 

She should not be this upset. They hadn't made any promises to each other. Apparently all they were was sex and friendship. Still, it was her temper that spoke. "I don't know, how many other girls your got on the rotation? Any of them throw away their careers for you today?"

He closed his eyes and bent his head. "There isn't anyone else. There hasn't been."

Sharon felt herself deflate a little. Being angry was easier than being hurt. "Me neither. I know you're not a spy, so maybe I shouldn't have assumed you'd know I was playing both sides. But. . . I thought you knew me better. You know how I felt about SHIELD falling. We talked about how frustrated you were with the UN sanctions and the Sokovia Accords. I've never been anything but on your team."

"I'm sorry," he said, because it was all he could say. "I do better with black and white, and things have gotten very gray." He looked back up at her. "Romanov's on the other side. Told me to my face to let a team of heavily armed goons apprehend Bucky. Which would have effectively been an execution and she pretended like she didn't know that. Fear, betrayal. . .paranoia sets in pretty fast."

The last of her anger dwindled. Clearly it had been a terrible few days. She stepped closer and hesitantly put her arms out for a hug. He scooped her up, holding her so tight he nearly lifted her off her feet. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and the breath he exhaled shuddered. She lifted her hand and stroked his hair, holding him tight. "I gotcha," she said softly. "I got your six."

She felt him nod, and then shudder again. He hung on to her like a lifeline, like the one steady thing in the middle of a hurricane. Like he had no intention of ever letting go. She had expected this to be a strategy meeting more than anything else. Next steps, long term plans for Bucky. But if this is what he needed, then this is what she would do.

"Have you eaten?" she asked finally, because she knew how he got when he was hungry. "I can run out to a restaurant and get some food."

"No," he whispered. "I'm okay." He finally did let go, and he straightened. His eyes were a little red, and it made her heart ache. He tried so hard to carry everything on his own.

She reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I know you're okay. But it's all right if you're not."

"Only to you," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. That was true, though, wasn't it? He kept coming to her, since that first night, a tense and tangled mess of bottled emotions. She'd sometimes wondered if it was the only time he ever relaxed, when he was with her. 

Cupping his cheek, she drew him down for a gentle kiss. "I'm the only one here," she murmured against his mouth. The kiss he returned wasn't gentle at all, and he plunged his hands into her hair to hold her head as he wanted. So he could kiss her _properly_.

It was her turn to shudder, though for an entirely different reason. One of his hands untangled from her hair so he could wrap an arm around her waist and haul her up against him. She curled an arm around his neck, balanced on her toes, with him supporting most of her weight. She opened her mouth to him, let him have control over this, after days of being completely out of control.

He lifted his head just enough to whisper, "Are you still mad at me?"

She shook her head. "No. You were having a shitty day, I'll give you a pass."

"Good. Because I want you so much right now."

His voice had gone lower, a deep rumble that sent heat pouring through her. She felt herself melt a little. "Well," she murmured. "I suppose if I was a little irritated that would be a good way to make it up to me."

His hands moved under her shirt, finding the warm skin beneath. "Reckless life-ruining sacrifice is just the sort of thing that really turns me on, you know."

"I have always suspected that about you." She lifted her arms and he slid his hands up, stroking her skin as he tugged the top off. He was still in his leather jacket and she tucked her now bare arms under it, hunting for the hem of his shirt. He made a humming noise when she touched his skin. He shrugged the jacket off, and then obediently lifted his arms as she dragged his shirt upwards.

He peeled her bra off and tugged her against him again, now bare chest to bare breast, and took her mouth in another intense kiss. This time, he did did lift her off her feet with his enthusiasm.

When he took a step towards the bed she forced herself to break the kiss. "If you're about to drop me on the bed I request you move the shield first. She's already beat me up a bit today."

"So this would be a bad time to tell you about my fantasy of fucking on the shield?" he asked, setting her down so he could move it. Then he yanked the covers back. Which was probably a good idea—you didn't want to lay naked on the bedspread in a motel this cheap.

"You should have done the kinky stuff when we were just fuck buddies," she told him. "Serious relationships are missionary in the dark."

He undid the button and then the zipper of her jeans so he could slide his hand inside. "I can work with that." The implication that they were in fact _in_ a serious relationship hadn't even made him blink.

His fingers pressed against her through the thin cotton of her underwear, the fabric already damp. Her breath left her in a rush and she hooked her thumbs into the waist of her jeans, pushing them down to give him better access. With a little tug, he guided her over to the bed and she sat, toeing off her shoes. He held her gaze, eyes almost challenging, as he slid a finger underneath the cotton. Her breath came in short little pants as he started to stroke her folds. Getting her jeans off seemed like an impossible task with that distraction, but he managed to do it with his free hand. Then he knelt in front of her, crowding her so she had to widen her legs to accommodate him. "Lights on. I want to see you."

Her skin flushed and she swallowed hard. "Yes."

He pushed his fingers inside her, three of them, stretching her. She was so wet there was no resistance, but her body clenched around the invasion. He leaned forward to kiss her mouth. "I love the way that feels," he murmured.

She moaned softly into his mouth as his fingers started to move. Honestly, she'd had cocks less satisfying than those three fingers. Her hips lifted when he withdrew them, meeting the forward thrust. "Oh," she breathed. "Fuck."

He pressed the heel of his hand against her clit, pressing and pulling with each motion. Just exactly perfect. "I do know you," he told her.

"You do." She fell back on her elbows, head tipping back as he played her like an instrument. Her body throbbed with pleasure and she moaned as it flooded her. She felt hot and dizzy with it as she started to shake, clenching tight around his fingers. She missed them when he pulled them away, even as she floated down from her orgasm. He rocked back on his heels and rubbed her knee gently, waiting, as she watched him through heavy lidded eyes.

When the last pulses of pleasure had faded she stretched a foot out. "C'mere." He grinned at her and stood up, and she greatly enjoyed watching him take the rest of his clothing off. Honestly she would probably never get tired of looking at him naked, he was that perfect.

She scooted back so he could join her on the bed. The mattress was old and lumpy and the frame creaked under his weight. She sank her hand into his hair as they kissed, stroking the smooth skin of his back with the other. "How do you want me?" she whispered.

His hand skimmed over her breasts. "Every way possible."

For someone famous for being bad with women, he did know the best things to say. Kissing him again, she slid a hand down to stroke his erection where it was trapped between them. "Wanna start with wrapped around this?"

Air hissed through his teeth. She knew him, too. "Yes."

She shifted and pressed him back against the headboard so he was sitting on the bed. She licked her lips, contemplating teasing him as he had her. But she ached with the need to have him inside her and as this was clearly the start of something long-term, she decided to be selfish. So she swung a leg over his, straddling him, and fit the broad head of his cock against the slick, swollen entrance of her sex. "Like this?" she murmured, watching his face. A little teasing was still fun.

He grinned, his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs. "Mmm. Little lower?"

Easing down about an inch she tilted her head and asked innocently, "Better?"

He growled at her inarticulately, and pressed down on her legs. He was stronger than her, and she let him pull her. He filled her with jolt, all the way until he bottomed out. The sudden invasion made her gasp.

"Oh," she whispered when she got her voice back. "You wanted it deep." She rolled her hips, keeping him inside but using the friction to sent sparks through her. "Me too." Gripping his shoulders, she ground against him a few times before lifting up and thrusting back down. She found a good rhythm, her thighs and glutes burning as she rode him as hard as she was able.

He tipped his head back agains the headboard a moment, like he was overwhelmed by it. Then he opened his eyes again to watch her. When she leaned close enough he met her, and captured one of her nipples in his mouth. He pressed one hand between her shoulder blades to hold her to him.

It limited how much she could move and her long strokes turned short and intense. The pull of his mouth sent shocks of awareness through her and she whimpered at the intensity. She lost her rhythm and he used one hand on her hip and the other on her back to coax her back into it, until she was moving under his power as much as her own. Those little reminders of exactly how strong he was were hot as hell.

"Fuck," she mumbled, pressing her face into his hair. "Oh, fuck me."

He brought his mouth to hers, and the kiss was messy and intense. "I want to make you come again," he told her.

"Yes." She was close. She could feel herself twitching around him, body straining towards her climax. Her thrusts grew frantic and the bed creaked loudly beneath him but she was past caring. "Make me come," she begged into his mouth. "Make me come, make me-" Pleasure snapped inside her and she wailed, grinding against him and burying his cock as deep as it would go. She shuddered in his arms, over and over again, lost in a climax more intense than any she could remember.

She felt him move, lifting them, and suddenly she was on her back. He hiked her legs up and fucked her hard, making her body clench and pulse around him as the orgasm seemed to ebb and flow. Was it the same one or a new one? She couldn't really tell; it didn't really matter. Just that it was cresting again when he shuddered and groaned and poured himself into her.

They rode out their climaxes together, then drifted in the afterglow, tangled throughly around each other. It was often like that at the end - sometimes the whole way through. Steve liked to fuck with an intensity that might have intimidated another woman. But she loved it. Being the sole focus of one of the most focused men in the world. He did things to her she'd never felt before.

Feeling a strong wave of affection sweep her, she pressed her face into his hair and hugged him tightly. 

He made a happy noise, and murmured, "That was three, wasn't it?"

Well, he probably deserved an ego boost. "Might have been more. Got a little blurry at the end there."

"I'd make some sort of victorious motion if I could actually move."

She laughed and stroked his back. "We're a special kind of alchemy, you and I."

"Yeah." He lifted his head, finally, propping up on one elbow. He reached to brush damp strands of hair off her forehead. "Thank you," he said. "For the shield and. . ." He swallowed. "For still being mine."

"I like being yours," she told him sincerely. "I hope I get to be so for a long time." She frowned. "Assuming we don't all end up in Gitmo or worse in the next few days."

"That's a very real possibility. You may have climbed on a sinking ship."

"Well. Better that than an enemy ship."

She loved the grin that got her. He kissed her gently, then carefully moved off her. "I should call Bucky and tell him it wasn't a trap."

"God. Yeah. Then we need to figure out a more secure hideout and start planning."

"We should swap our intel. Bucky has quite a bit. And I need to call Sam." He sat, and helped her up. She didn't want to let the moment go, and she could see neither did he. She could see him look over at where the gear was stacked. "I apologize for my lack of faith."

She pressed a tender kiss to his shoulder and really hoped this wasn't the last time they were together like this. "Don't let it happen again."


End file.
